the long road home
by ncfan
Summary: -Molly, Molly II, Percy- He'd named her first grandchild after her. Fifth in the 'Prodigal Son' series.


**Characters**: Molly, Molly II, Percy**  
Summary**: He'd named her first grandchild after her.**  
Pairings**: mentioned Percy x Penelope**  
Author's Note**: Here's the fifth installment of the 'Prodigal Son' series. Since Percy's eldest daughter in canon is called Molly, I decided I'd keep that in here. I like the idea that he named his first kid after his mother, despite everything. It's anyone's guess as to whether Audrey and Lucy will make an appearance a few years down the road or if I've written them out of history entirely in this already non-canonical writing we call fanfiction—I honestly don't care what conclusion you come to.**  
Disclaimer**: I don't own _Harry Potter_.

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Molly Weasley had experienced a great many things recently that she had never expected to happen to her, not all of them pleasant. Personally, she'd begun to despair of Bill ever getting married (he'd never shown an interest in any girl before he met Fleur Delacour), and until recently she hadn't been terribly fond of her impending daughter-in-law. What had made her see Fleur for what she was—haughty but without a doubt far better a person than she'd been giving her credit for—was something Molly wished to God hadn't happened either. Bill should never have been mauled by Fenrir Greyback, any more than George should have had his ear cursed off by Severus Snape.

She felt like she was losing her grip, losing her ability to keep her family somewhat safe. They were all scattered from her now. Fred and George had left with Order business; Ron was off God knew where doing God knows what; Ginny would, in less than a month returning to a Hogwarts that couldn't be trusted (Molly would have given anything to be able to just keep her home this year), a place she might not even return from, given her family's status as blood traitors and who would almost certainly be installed there. All those names, they weren't just names, they were her _children_, and when they were put in danger, suddenly she couldn't do a thing. She couldn't protect them.

Small, practiced hands tried grabbing and clenching at the children that had turned into smoke, but just like smoke the harder Molly tried to hold on to them, the more they slipped from her grasp. Molly was waiting, her mouth dry as a desert, for news to come back that one of her babies was dead, because she wasn't an idiot and she wasn't blind; she remembered the First War all too well, and she knew that people died right and left and how easily her family might start filling those numbers. Bill and Arthur both had already come so close to death…

There was another new experience, one to fill Molly's heart both with pride and grief. She had never expected to be finding herself with a namesake before reaching the age of fifty.

Molly didn't need early warning charms placed around the Burrow to tell her that someone had Apparated within the confines of the charms' reach; the twin _CRACKS!_ reverberating in the air had been more than enough to let her know she wasn't alone. Though Molly knew that it was almost certainly Arthur returning to get ready to go back to work at the Ministry (it couldn't be avoided anymore), she still clenched her wand tightly as she made her way towards the front door to greet the visitor.

As she had suspected, it was only Arthur; no Death Eaters or unfriendly Ministry wizards were going to be showing their faces at the Burrow today. But he wasn't alone.

They had still been about a hundred feet from the house, so while Molly had recognized her husband immediately, she had lingered in the threshold, frowning slightly and wondering who it was with Arthur. Then, she recognized that shock of bright red hair and large, thick horn-rimmed glasses.

Molly had never been certain of whether she was angry with Percy or simply distraught over his departure. It could have been both; Molly was closely familiar with how the feelings of anger and distress could be mingled. She honestly didn't know what had happened to her bright, overly serious boy that had driven him to cut off ties with his family, didn't know what had changed him. Arthur, she was quite aware, tried not to think about it for the pain it caused him, but there were times when it was all Molly _could_ think about. Had it been happening right in front of her, as plain as day? Had it been obvious, and she just couldn't see it? Had the changes occurring in Percy been so painfully evident that Molly _should_ have seen it?

This, she would never know. Molly could only speculate, cast blame (most of it on herself whether she deserved it or not), and wonder about Percy almost constantly. It had been easier, so much easier, when Bill and Charlie left home; they had left on good (if tearful) terms and they had sent regular letters home. Not so with Percy. Of Percy, there was almost no word, no way of knowing what state he was in from day to day.

That was why the news of the coup d'état at the Ministry and what became of her third son during the fighting terrified her so. Not only was _another_ one of her children injured, there had been no word as to just how badly Percy had been hurt; Molly could only speculate, and for all she knew he could have just had cuts and bruises or he could have been on Death's door. That was the worst thought of all, that Percy might die so far from home, and without ever coming close to reconciliation with his family. He would die on the outside, the way he had lived for two years.

And she wouldn't have been able to keep it from happening.

It had been Christmas the last time Molly had seen Percy, and in the eight months since they had last laid eyes on each other, it seemed as though Percy had changed. He was now pale as Death (he'd always been pale, but Molly couldn't get over how pronounced it was now), even more worryingly thin than he had been at Christmas (Molly could see it even under the bulk of his gray cloak). Percy looked utterly exhausted, as if all the energy had been siphoned out of him. His face seemed… stretched, cheeks slightly hollow.

This of course, among other things, provoked a hailstorm of questions and observations, after the obligatory tearful greeting.

"Are you alright? I've been worried sick! Have you been eating enough? Have you been sleeping, Percy? You look as though you haven't had a moment's rest in weeks. Are you _sure_ you've been eating? You've grown so thin. Anyone would think you—"

That was when the baby woke up and started to whimper. And Molly noticed for the first time what she knew should have been obvious from the start, as Percy shifted the child in his arms and managed to silence it. Percy was holding a very small, very young, very _real _baby in his arms.

"Percy, how—"

Percy had already looked deeply uncomfortable about the whole thing, practically squirming under his mother's close scrutiny, plainly contemplating whether she shouldn't just Disapparate. Arthur seemed to be caught between sympathy and amusement at his son's predicament, one hand on his shoulder, either for support or something else. When Molly looked from Percy to the baby and back to Percy again, she saw the awkward discomfort deepening over his bones, and she saw something else too. Percy was staring away from his mother, eyes abstracted and glazed. His face had a pinched look now to go with its stretched appearance, an expression that bespoke both misery and an unspoken plea: _Please don't ask_. That expression made her heart ache, both with unanswered questions and with the feeling that whatever answers she received, she wouldn't like them.

There were questions that needed to be asked though, and as much as Molly didn't want to be the cause of that look on Percy's face, didn't want to cause him any more pain than he was already in, Molly knew she couldn't afford to be overly kind. She needed answers. The most she could do was usher all three of them into the house before her and get the story inside rather than out.

Molly was right. She really _didn't_ want to hear what Percy had to tell her, for various reasons.

Apparently, Arthur and Percy had come to Molly in the hopes that she would be willing to take care of Percy's daughter, since Percy himself wouldn't be able to—_another_ son in the Order; Molly didn't know whether to be proud or scream. Well, of course she would take care of the child; she had no idea what made Percy look at her so tentatively when he asked her that. What made him think she wouldn't be willing to care for her own granddaughter; Molly had always adored children, and to be truthful she had been feeling a bit depressed about all of her own being on the verge of flying the coop. Percy's relief was nearly palpable.

All too soon, they both had to leave. Arthur had to return to work, and Percy was reporting to Kingsley, or someone, for an assignment—it was unlikely he'd be back anytime soon. Molly was left holding a sleeping infant in her arms, shelving any plans of house cleaning that afternoon as she tried to make plans for where the baby would sleep.

It had been morning when Arthur and Percy had come to her; as the day wore on, Molly was met by more visitors. Ginny eventually came out of the garden when the deep gray sky started to threaten rain again. Fred and George unceremoniously Apparated into the living room without knocking; bad form and terribly impolite, but something Molly had come to expect from them both, even if it still drove her mad. Bill and Fleur had dropped by too; Fleur wanted to ask her mother-in-law if she had any advice on how to furnish their home, and apparently it absolutely _could not_ wait.

They all, of course, had opinions on the newest inhabitant of the Burrow. Ginny and Fleur both fussed over the baby to no end, Fleur especially. In the former, Molly thought she could detect some sense of disapproval at Percy having left his daughter in the care of their mother; then again, just about anything Percy did was bound to elicit Ginny's disapproval these days. In the latter, there was only the complete melting of whatever vestiges of haughtiness Fleur had possessed. Bill had observed the scene from a few feet away, face completely unreadable even to his mother. Identical impish grins affixed to their faces, Fred and George took one look at their niece and swore they'd indoctrinate her into the ways of pranking and mischief as soon as she was old enough to understand what they were saying—they'd found another way to plague and pester Percy.

All the while, Molly sat on the sagging couch, holding the baby except for when Fleur would, giggling in a manner highly uncharacteristic of her, took the baby and smiled into her now very much awake face. For a few hours she was able to forget her worries, her fears, her regrets, all the things she was terrified might happen.

Eventually, Molly had found herself alone with the baby again. Ginny had retreated back up to her room, and Fred, George, Bill and Fleur had to leave. She just sat there, until the late afternoon when she started to think, her numbness gone.

Her first grandchild had been named after her. This little one was called Molly, and the elder Molly was already beginning to wonder whether or not some sort of nickname would have to be devised so the two wouldn't be confused while together. She supposed it would be alright for now, since everyone was referring to the little one as "The Baby" and not by any particular name; that's how it always went with any of Molly's children when they were first born, except for Fred and George (They were called "The Twins" instead).

Molly smiled a little bit, and ran her finger across her granddaughter's cheek, seeing pale, fair skin, wispy curls that were already showing signs of the traditional Weasley red, and eyes the same shade of watery blue that Percy's were in infancy—Molly had no idea if they will stay blue or progress to some different shade; she didn't know what color the mother's eyes were.

Percy had named his first child after her, despite everything that had happened between them, something that, honestly, Molly had come to the point that even when she hoped and prayed and did her best to hopefully push all parties involved towards reconciliation, she had never expected to happen. It was a deep honor from any standpoint to have someone named after another—which was why Molly had always considered Percy's attitude towards Albus Dumbledore to be so ironic; the Dumbledore and Weasley families were distantly related and Percy (whose proper name—not that anyone ever seemed to remember it—was Percival) had been named for Professor Dumbledore's father and indirectly for Albus himself. Molly was, of course, gratified, deeply so; it just confused her.

Considering the terms they were on, it was not an honor Molly had ever expected to receive. Not from him.

And now, Percy was gone again. And alone.

Molly stared down into the infant's face, pale blue eyes staring right back up at her and contemplating her drowsily, and knew the full extent of just what she had missed in Percy's life.

He had gotten married, to a girlfriend from Hogwarts, the girl he'd gone to stay with when he left the Burrow, in fact; the girl's name had been Penelope Clearwater. Last October, or at least according Percy's terse explanation. Molly had forbore probing too deeply into the matter; she'd press for details, _extensive_ details later, when there was time for such things. They had had a child, a little girl, born in early June—_right around the time of Dumbledore's funeral, Molly realized; what a time to be born_—the same girl she held in her arms now. And the girl Percy had married, a girl Molly could only vaguely remember having met, was dead, for no greater crime than having been born to Muggles.

The world in general and life in particular had ceased making any great deal of sense to Molly a long time ago. She had thought she understood it until the day her brothers died—before then, she had thought that only those whose call was over could be called beyond. Then, Fabian and Gideon had died, and Molly's outlook on the world took a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn.

Life wasn't kind. Percy had discovered this, in the worst way possible. If he and his daughter both survived the War then neither one of them would be physically alone, and young Molly would have her father, but Percy would be alone in a way that couldn't been filled just by the presence of another. No one was meant to be alone that way; that much, Molly was sure of. Certainly not one of her children.

She sighed heavily. They'd missed so much. _She'd_ missed so much. A marriage, a birth… These things should have been happy, cause for celebration throughout the whole family, but instead neither she nor anyone else found out anything about either until it was marred by death and grief and chaos. Death cast a buzzing cloud over everything now.

Molly sighed softly. Her family was scattered all across the land, like shards of glass from a broken vase. She had given everything to her family, would move Heaven and Earth for her children and if any of them were ever threatened she would cut down everything in her path to get to them and keep them safe, but somehow, she couldn't keep her hands on all of the strings now.

Ron, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, Percy, none of them were within Molly's power to keep them safe anymore. And Percy was still a long way from home, in more ways than one, even with the small child in Molly's arms tying him there.

There was nothing to do but pray he'd find his way home, before Death found him.

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I'm sorry if this seemed a little abrupt, but it works for me, and this was the best I could do. Writing about Mrs. Weasley's thoughts on the whole thing just made sense to me.

Also, Mrs. Weasley rocks. There's no other way to say it. During Percy's whole estrangement, I have to admit the only bit of his behavior I really took issue with was his treatment of his mother—especially the whole "returning the Christmas sweater" thing; really? You _can not_ return a Christmas present to the sender, especially not if it's from your _mother_! Okay, calming down now—considering how much Mrs. Weasley just wanted everything to be alright again. Percy has grown into one of my favorite characters, but for that, I still want to shake him.

Next up is _Message in a Bottle_, unless I think up something that would chronologically take place before it.


End file.
